


Post Happening

by MorphoFan



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphoFan/pseuds/MorphoFan
Summary: The Blue Morpho and Kano's evening only gets worse after blowing up The Doom Factory.This story is written in counterpoint.  Alternating segments are told in first-person by The Monarch and 21.  It felt like the best way to write it, and it was inspired by the style of "A Party For Tarzan."





	1. HENCHMAN 21

HENCHMAN 21

 

"Duuuuuuude!"

Monarch's terrified voice faded away. For a few seconds I just bobbed there on the scooter, watching the Doom Factory lair fade into the haze of light pollution over the city. 

I had just watched my best friend get carried off by a vehicle that was loaded with explosives. No. No, this was NOT happening again....

"Oh yes it is!" 24's voice said inside my head.

"Fuck!" I gunned the engine on the scooter and sped back toward the Morpho Cave. 

About ten minutes later, after red-lining the engine all the way home, I sloshed the scooter into the tiny docking bay. I leaped off it, ran toward the Morphomobile, started the engine, and revved it. The tires screeched and laid down rubber as I floored the accelerator, following the short driveway that led out of the underground lair.

As soon as I was above ground I engaged the flight mode and blasted into the sky, heading back toward the city. I knew the Doom Factory was arching Venture tonight, so it just made sense that that flying hideout of theirs was on its way to VenTech Tower.

Sure enough, as I neared the tall, well-lit skyscraper, I spotted the spinning, Mexican-Hat-shaped lair. It hovered about 50 feet from Venture's poolside patio. I brought the jet in close, and was setting it down on the landing pad above the patio, when it happened.

KA-BOOM!!!!!

The ball of fire lit up the sky, spreading out in tentacles-like tendrils, flaming debris falling to the street far below. 

My whole body went numb. I let go of the controls and the Morphojet bounced down, less than gently, on the roof. Probably damaged the suspension. I didn't care. I had just watched my best friend get blown to pieces. Again. And I had done nothing to save him. Again. 

I laid my head down on the steering wheel and cried. For long minutes, I don't know how long. Time didn't seem to register on my brain anymore. All I could feel was despair, hopelessness, and an intense feeling of loss.

"Kano?" 

Oh God, Monarch had been dead less than ten minutes and he was already haunting me.... I held my hands over my eyes, willing his voice to go away.

"Kano. KANO! DUDE!? Down here!"

It wasn't bad enough that he was haunting me, he was haunting me from Hell! At least 24 seemed to have gone to a more neutral part of the afterlife. Poor Monarch was sentenced to burn for all eternity....

My cell phone suddenly rang, and I jumped. I instinctively pulled it out of my pocket to see who was calling me, and I froze. Monarch was calling me. From Hell. Despite my despair, I couldn't help but be impressed with his cellphone carrier's range....

I pushed the button to receive the call, and hesitantly held it up to my ear. "H-h-hello?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" came Monarch's voice, sounding annoyed.

I blinked. Wait a minute. "Are you... are you... in Hell?" I asked uncertainly.

"What are you... HELL? I'm standing next to Venture's pool, you big retard! Look down here!"

The phone dropped from my fingers, and I leaned forward to stare through the windshield. Sure enough, a tall figure dressed all in blue was on the level below the landing pad, waving up to me.

I tumbled out of the car onto the tarmac, my knees shaking, and my legs like Play-Doh. But I managed to run to the stairway leading down to the poolside patio, and practically skidded down it on my heels.

Monarch was grinning, striding across the roof toward me. 

"Did you SEE that?" he exclaimed, pointing to where the Doom Factory had exploded, "I told you it would be epic!"

I ran across to him and grabbed him up, crushing him in my arms, lifting him off the ground a good six inches. I must have looked like an idiot, but I didn't care. My best friend was alive. Back from the dead. I pressed my face into his chest, and couldn't hug him tightly enough.

"What, uh... OK," Monarch began, sounding amused and more than a bit confused, "What's this about, then?"

"The explosion," I mumbled into his shirtfront, "Thought you were dead...."

"Oh, dude!" Monarch's arms came around me, and hugged me back, "No, I got tossed off when the friggin' thing lifted off from the patio!"

I just nodded, keeping my tear-streaked face hidden against him. Part of me was mortified about my behavior, but the other part, the dominant part, was just overjoyed to still have him alive.

"Hey Kano?" Monarch asked, after another minute or so.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"Can you put me down, now?"


	2. MONARCH

MONARCH

"Sorry," 21 said as he finally released me from his crushing-yet-touching embrace. I slipped out of his arms and my feet came to rest back on Venture's patio.

21 and I had become closer over the past few months. He wasn't just my bodyguard and henchman these days, he was my friend. Hell, he was my best friend. 

Once I thought about it, after the way he lost 24 a few years ago, I could hardly blame him for his reaction to seeing the Doom Factory blow up. Poor guy.

"Are you gonna be OK?" I asked him, adjusting his skewed chauffeur's cap. 

"Yeah," he said, with a nod, "Sorry for being a wuss....,"

"Stop apologizing," I said, brushing my hands over my suit, "I'm sorry to have scared you like that."

I patted my burly companion on the back, and started to suggest we leave the scene... when a wave of the most wretched feeling washed over me.

"Hold on a second," I gurgled, then turned quickly from my concerned partner, to vomit copiously into Venture's swanky roof-top swimming pool. As I purged, the spasms knocked me to my knees, and I got a fresh whiff of my sodden suit. Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. The Gowanus canal! The canal in which DEAD DOLPHIN JUICE was the least-horrible thing! What had I ingested?

"Oohhh...." I put my head against the cool, smooth tile of the pool's edge as the sweat began pouring down my face. There was a maelstrom of... suckiness... in my guts, a flood of fire in my veins, and something that sounded like a Death Metal band made up of monkeys with garbage can lids inside my pounding skull.

"Dude? Dude!" 21's voice seemed far away, fading. 

I rolled weakly onto my back, and watched the stars turn into fuzzy circles in the sky. A small part of me took satisfaction in the fact that I'd now managed to both crap AND puke into Venture's pool in the same week. 

"Dude, can you hear me?"

I was freezing, soaking with sweat, and could swear that I would shiver myself to death. My henchman's voice sounded like we were at opposite ends of a mine shaft.

"Oh man, you're sick." 

Nice work, Kano. Did you use the CRIME COMPUTER for that one?

He was kneeling beside me now, sliding an arm under my shoulders and helping me sit up. He laid his hand on my brow, and then turned his head to yell toward the penthouse.

"Hey, I need some help, here! Blue Morpho's in bad shape!" 

Under-fucking-statement of the century. He stood up and hauled me clumsily to my feet, draping my arm around his neck and wrapping his massive arm around my waist. I reached up to drunkenly pat the side of his face.

"Ag-g-g-gressive... c-course... anti... b-b-biotics....!" I suggested, stuttering from the tremors wracking my frame. 

From someplace far away, Venture said something about a hospital....

"He is BURNING UP!" 21 shouted, "He won't make it to the hospital!" 

I held my stomach and doubled over with a sound that was part moan and part wail. 21's big, masked face swam into my line of sight again, his eyes full of worry.

"Easy, dude," he murmured in a comforting way, "It's gonna be OK."

Suuuure it is. My legs gave up the fight to keep me vertical and I stumbled against him. He scooped me up in his arms and turned toward the penthouse. 

"Are you seeing this, Venture? The Blue Morpho is going to fucking DIE on your veranda if you don't help us!" 21 said hoarsely.

He and Venture were shouting back and forth as 21 carried me across the patio, and I heard Venture say something about whaling. Whaling? Soooo not cool in this day and age. 

Insanely, I felt tears streaming down my face as I laid my head against 21's rock-like shoulder.

"Hang on, Boss, Venture's going to get Dr. Whalen." 

Whaling was wrong. Just, WRONG. That poor little dolphin in the canal. I could still taste it.....

"Don't die, dude...." 

21's voice sounded husky and strange. I felt him press his wonderfully-cool cheek against my brow as I slid out of consciousness. 

"Please don't die," he choked, brokenly, "Please...."

My eyes drifted shut and that was it for me. Monarch out.

*************************************


	3. Post Happening Part 3

**HENCHMAN 21**

"Billy!" Venture was yelling at his wristwatch, "Billy, we need you, where are you?"

I was following on his heels, still cradling Monarch's limp figure in my arms. He'd lost consciousness and my heart was pounding with worry. The heat coming off his body was insane. 

I looked around, and saw we were in the enormous, beautifully-stocked kitchen of the Venture home. As I was about to ask Venture where I should go, the elevator at the far end of the room opened. Dr. Billy Whalen and a tall albino stepped out, and the moment Billy saw me and my burden, he broke into a run.

"Talk to me!" he ordered sharply, directing me over to the long, bare table in the corner. 

"High fever," I barked, as I hurried over and laid the Monarch out on the table as gently as I could, "Vomiting, disorientation... he took a dip in the Gowanus canal, swallowed some water."

"Probably a severe bacterial infection of some sort." Billy pulled a small cable from the back of his robotic hand and plugged in into the fancy communicator watch on his wrist. He rested the hand against the side of Monarch's neck, and his eyes widened as he studied the watch's tiny screen.

"Ah shit..., temp's going on 106!" He ran to the kitchen cupboard and grabbed a box of trash bags, tossing them to Venture. "Fill those halfway with crushed ice, tie them off." He turned to the albino.

"White, I need the antibiotics, an IV kit and three bags of saline."

"Right," the tall, white-haired man ran down the hall. 

Venture was standing at the refrigerator, using the dispenser to quickly fill the bags with ice, as directed. Billy was loosening the Monarch's tie and unbuttoning the collar of his dress shirt.

"What can I do?" I asked, feeling helpless as I gazed down at my friend's pale, sweating face, "Please, I need to help."

"Strip him down," Billy replied, reaching for the fly of Monarch's blue trousers, "Everything off. His clothes are one big Petri dish." 

I sat Monarch up and peeled off his trench coat, tossing it aside. I followed with his suit jacket, then his tie and dress shirt, buttons flying everywhere as I ripped it open and pulled it from his body. Billy was tugging down his trousers.

Venture appeared at the table with his arms full of ice bags. Billy took them and began packing them against the Monarch's bare skin.

"I thought using ice to reduce a fever was frowned upon these days?" Venture asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No," Whalen replied, continuing to lay the bags over the Monarch's flesh, "But when your patient is about to die, you do anything you can. We're gonna lose him if we don't cool him down, fast."

I felt my stomach roll over, its contents coming up into the back of my throat.

"Aaaaand, we're really going to do this in the kitchen?" Venture asked, as he moved to pull off the patient's shoes and socks, "Wouldn't the lab be more suitable?"

"There's no time," Billy snapped with a shake of his head, "He's got minutes to live before his immune system cooks his brain." He placed the last ice bag between Monarch's thighs as Venture finished tugging off the soaked trousers and briefs.

White came charging back into the kitchen with his arms full of the requested medical items.

"Two saline bags in the wine chiller, everything else here," Dr. Whalen instructed, pointing at the table. 

The albino placed two clear IV bags into the fancy keg-shaped wine chiller at the end of the kitchen island and switched it on. He handed the third bag, a small leather case, and a handful of tubes and needles to the doctor, who then handed the IV bag to me.

"Hold this," he said. 

I did as I was told, and watched as he expertly inserted a heavy-gauge needle into the vein on the inside of Monarch's elbow. Meanwhile White reappeared with a bed sheet and draped it across his lower half, restoring a shred of dignity to my poor, sick partner.

Venture was down on the floor under the table, collecting the items of The Blue Morpho costume and stuffing them into a trash bag.

"Wash your hands, Doc," Whalen ordered, as Venture placed the full bag at my feet, "One patient is enough." He finished setting up the IV port and connected the tubes to the bag I was holding.

"Hold it up," he explained, gently guiding my hands upward, "It works with gravity."

I watched the clear saline flow down through the tube into my friend's arm. My hands were shaking, but I maintained my grip on the bag. 

The doctor took a bottle out of the leather case, and loaded a syringe with what I assumed were the antibiotics he'd mentioned. He injected the clear, pinkish fluid into the vein on Monarch's other arm.

"He's gonna be OK, pally," White said, suddenly appearing at my elbow, "Billy's a brilliant doctor. The Blue Morpho's in good hands." 

He laid his hand on my back in a surprisingly comforting way. I closed my eyes and just nodded, afraid my voice would break if I tried to speak. I opened my eyes just in time to see Whalen reaching for the Monarch's Blue Morpho mask!

"LEAVE IT!" I roared, drawing my dart gun and pointing it at the startled physician. He leaped back and his hands shot up in a cartoonish way that would have been comical if I wasn't so worried about my boss.

"Whoa, easy!" White exclaimed in alarm, holding up his hands and placing himself between me and Billy.

"Look, Kano," Whalen began, "I'm a doctor, I am SWORN to confidentiality regarding my patients. I assure you, I won't reveal The Blue Morpho's identity...." 

He looked toward the end of the table, where Dr. Venture was watching in shock.

"...Especially since, apparently, I have NO FREAKING CLUE who he is."

I glowered, hunching protectively over the Monarch's motionless body, raising the gun a bit higher.

"Touch that mask again, and doctor or not, I will END you," I growled.

There was a long, tense, uncomfortable silence, with everyone staring at me. Finally Billy held up his hands in supplication.

"OK, fine, the mask stays where it is. Can you put the gun away, now?"

I gave one last dark, menacing look at Whalen, White and Venture, in turn. Then I nodded curtly and re-holstered my weapon.

"Sorry," I mumbled, probably somewhat inadequately.

The wine chiller beeped, making everyone jump. Dr. Whalen pointed to it. Venture popped the lid, reached into the cold water within, withdrew one of the saline bags and brought it to the table.

Billy took the room-temperature IV bag from my hand and gave me the chilled one. It was almost painfully cold, but I held onto it. He unhooked the first bag, laid it aside, and connected the new, chilled bag to the setup.

"Cold saline is the safest way to lower a fever in a hurry," he explained, as he began to remove the melting ice packs from the Monarch's body. "We just had to make do with the ice while the IV bag chilled."

Fifteen minutes ticked by, but it seemed like a lifetime.

Venture went to make us all some coffee, and White stood at the head of the table with a bowl of water, changing out one cold washcloth after another on the Monarch's hot brow, but taking care not to move the blue mask. 

After a few minutes, White relieved my aching arms to hold the IV bag for me. I shook my hands to restore some of the circulation, and moved to stand at my partner's head, looking solemnly down at his still face. I felt tears threatening behind my eyes. Nobody that pale could be alive.

Dr. Whalen came to the head of the table with me, and again pressed his bionic hand to the side of the Monarch's neck. For a long time, he said nothing, just studied the readouts on his watch.

I was holding my breath, watching.

Dr. Whalen looked up and took the nearly-empty IV bag from White's hands. He laid it down on the table, and leaned heavily on both hands for a moment, head hung.

"It's over," he said quietly.

"Wh... wha... what?" I rasped, almost inaudibly, my heart hammering in my throat. Then Billy looked up at me, and patted my arm.

"We won," he said, with a relieved sigh and a smile, "His fever's down, he's out of danger."

I collapsed, clutching the edge of the table and laying my forehead down on my hands. I knelt down so my rubbery legs wouldn't give out on me, my body shaking. It took everything I had not to start sobbing as I felt White and Billy patting me on the back.

"Thank you," I managed to whisper, "Thank you...."

******

Later, Whalen, White, Venture and I huddled around the kitchen island drinking coffee. Monarch was still out, but repeated checks by Billy confirmed that the antibiotics had kicked in, and his fever was continuing to drop. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Four in the morning. Fuck, what a night.

I finished my coffee and took my empty cup to the sink, then returned to the table to stand over Monarch. I took hold of the sheet gathered at his waist and tugged it up over his belly, smoothing my hand over the soft fabric.

His hat was on the floor somewhere, and I noticed for the first time that he had combed and gelled his crazy-long eyebrows back against the sides of his head. They were blended in with the rest of his russet hair, completely unnoticeable unless you knew to look for them. Smart.

Suddenly, he gave a moan, and his brow furrowed. I leaned over him and gently brushed the sweat-drenched hair back from his forehead. His hand twitched where it lay on his chest, and I reached out to clasp it in my own. I hovered close, studying his face.

"Boss?" I called softly, "Hey... you coming back to us?"

His eyelids fluttered, and then he slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me. He was obviously having trouble focusing on my face. I knew he must be confused and I wished I could remove my Kano mask, but I didn't dare.

"Hi there," I murmured, smiling, as I gave his hand a squeeze.

"21?" Monarch said, questioningly. 

GAH!

"Uhh, Jump Street?" I broke in quickly, stealing a nervous glance at Dr. Whalen and the others as they came to join me, "Sure, Mr. Blue Morpho, we'll watch it when we get back to the lair!" 

I faked a laugh and tousled his hair, hoping the motion might jiggle his brain back on track.

"Wha...?" Monarch's glazed eyes finally settled on my own, "21 Jump Street?"

"We've been binge-watching the old TV show," I explained awkwardly to Venture, White and Whalen, "Super-awesome show!"

"Oh yeah, that's a classic," White agreed, nodding, "Billy and I watch it, too."

"The BLUE MORPHO here loves it," I said pointedly, winking at the Monarch. 

Now he was eyeing me like I was crazy. It was a start.

"In fact," I whispered conspiratorially to Whalen, while pointing at Monarch, "I think somebody has a little man-crush on Johnny Depp... OOF!"

Monarch had elbowed me in the balls. Oh, praise be to Lucas, he was back in the moment, at last. 

Taking a deep breath, he struggled to sit up, and I wrapped my arm around his bare shoulders to support him. He looked around, and I could see the bewilderment on his face as he took in the kitchen surroundings.

"Are we on Iron Chef?" he asked. 

"We're at the home of Dr. Venture," I chuckled, "I think you remember Dr. Billy Quizboy Whalen.... He pretty much saved your life." 

Monarch looked over at Billy, and offered a handshake, which Whalen eagerly accepted. 

"Hi," Billy said, grinning like a starstruck teenager, pumping his hand forcefully, "Wow. The Blue Morpho."

"Nice to see you again, Citizen," Monarch said, re-assuming the Morpho persona, "And well done. The Blue Morpho appreciates your assistance." 

I swear Whalen blushed, and I had to pretend to cough to cover my snort of laughter.

"It's the least I can do, sir," the petite physician gushed, "I'm just.... I'm SUCH a huge fan, and besides, I owed you one after that Haranguetan fiasco." 

"Of course," Monarch replied, with a nod.

"Can you raise your arm up for me, please?" Billy instructed, switching back into Doctor mode. 

Monarch obeyed, still blearily looking around as the doctor set about removing the IV port from his arm, taping a wad of gauze over the residual puncture.

"Hold that in place for a minute," Billy instructed, as he collected up the rest of the tubes and stuff. 

White brought out a bathrobe, and he and Venture helped the Monarch into it while Billy showed me how to administer the correct dosage of antibiotics for later. 

I shouldered the bag full of the toxic, stinking Blue Morpho costume, planning to drop it off at Enzo's later. We said our goodbyes, and made our way out the door to the patio, where the Morphomobile waited.

"Thank you once again, Citizens," Monarch called, with a little salute. As he turned toward the car, he seemed to get dizzy, and I grabbed him around the waist.

"Careful," I said, "You've had a rough night, just take it slow." 

I helped him across the veranda to the car, keeping my arm at his waist, as he gripped my shoulder. He was still weak, and Billy had said he would still have symptoms for a few days while the antibiotics did their job.

"I cannot believe those people," Monarch suddenly muttered as I opened the gull-wing door and settled him into the passenger seat.

"What do you mean?" I asked, buckling him in and tossing the bagged Morpho costume onto the floor at his feet.

"I mean," he continued, "They know me as The Monarch, they know you as 21. They know our voices. But throw on a little half-mask and suddenly they're all clueless? Sad." He shook his head.

"Dude!" I replied, as I crossed to the driver's side and got behind the wheel, "That was a friggin' BLESSING, tonight! We wouldn't have made it to the hospital."

"No, probably not," Monarch agreed, "Raging, life-threatening fever aside, the average Tri-State Area ER would probably have a few questions about treating a costumed super-villain. Or a super-villain who's moonlighting as a vigilante."

"Not to mention that The Council is out for your blood," I added, "Going to the ER isn't the best way to stay under the radar." I started up the Morphomobile engine and engaged the flight mode. We lifted off and I turned the wheel to take us home.

The Monarch was uncharacteristically quiet as we traveled through the darkness.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him. He looked over at me, just watching me for a long moment.

"I'm not dead," he murmured, at last, and smiled at me.

I smiled back, and he leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**************


	4. Post Happening Part 4

**MONARCH**

I must have nodded out on the trip home, because all of a sudden 21 was leaning over me again through the open gull-wing door, gently shaking me by the shoulder. As soon as I opened my eyes, everything started spinning again, and I leaned out to vomit onto the floor of the Morpho Cave.

"Ahh, dude," 21 grumbled, stepping back to save his shoes from the mess, "I just Mop-And-Glowed the floor." 

But all the same, he reached down and took my arm across his shoulders and helped me out of the car. I felt like shit again. My fever was back, though not nearly as high this time, thank God. 21 supported me as we made our way toward the stairs at the far end of the vast Morpho Cave.

"Hang on a second," he said suddenly, easing me down to sit at the foot of the stairs. He reached toward my face and I instinctively drew back. But all he did was slip off my mask. I'd forgotten I was wearing it. 

He crossed to the costume pods, and I watched him as he stripped out of his Kano costume and hung it neatly in the pod. When he was back in his shorts and t-shirt, I saw him take something from my pod and cross back to my side.

"I got your robe," he said, holding it up. 

I looked down and realized the robe I was swaddled in was not my own. I fingered it. Nice. Plush.

"Whose is this?" I asked, running my fingers over the softness.

"Belongs to Dr. Whalen's friend, White," 21 replied, "We couldn't put you back in your suit, it was infectious. And White's the only one in that gang who is even close to your size."

I nodded, and reached out for my own robe, but 21 tossed it over his shoulder and pointed toward the top of the stairs.

"You're still funky, dude," he said, grinning a little, "Let's get you scrubbed down, first."

I rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling the burn of that foul, fetid water that had almost killed me. And I did definitely still exude the exotic aroma of Eau De Gowanus. But I was alive.

Final Score, Monarch: one..., Dead Dolphin Juice: zilch. 

21 helped me to my feet again, and we started up the stairs to Chez Monarch. Halfway up, I started a mental mantra, like The Little Engine That Could. (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.)

Three quarters of the way up, it had changed to, (oh fuck my life, oh fuck my life, oh fuck my life.) 

Maybe we could get an elevator installed.... 

But I made it, and soon we were sidling through the swinging bookcase that concealed our secret lair. Now I was huffing and puffing like The Little Engine That Was About To Fucking Die. I was sweating again, and my head was pounding. 

"You OK?" 21 asked as he lowered me into a chair. He knelt in front of me and cupped my face in his big paw of a hand, looking at my eyes, I guess, "Here, you need another shot."

"Bangup idea," I replied slumping back in the chair, breathing hard. I gestured toward the small bar in the corner of the study. "Jim Beam, neat." My oh-so-respectful henchman guffawed. 

"Sorry, dude," he chuckled, producing a vial and syringe from his pocket, "I meant another shot of hardcore antibiotics, courtesy of the good doctor, Billy Quizboy Whalen."

"Billy Fanboy Whalen," I corrected wryly, watching 21 roll up my sleeve and fill the syringe. He laughed.

"Oh, you noticed that, too?" He said with a grin as he tapped the syringe to clear the air bubbles out, "Yeah, you're definitely Billy's hero. I thought he was gonna wet himself when you shook his hand."

I gave a low chuckle, and then winced as the needle pierced my skin. It was probably psychosomatic, but I swear I felt better the moment 21 gave me the shot. Yay, modern medicine.

"Good to go?" he asked, tucking the capped syringe and vial back into his shorts and holding out his hand to me.

I took it, and he pulled me out of the chair and took my arm across his shoulders again. We made our way out of the study and into the vestibule. At the foot of the stairs, I stopped and just groaned, hanging my head.

"Waaaay too many stairs in this house," I whined, exhausted. But I gamely started up, leaning heavily on 21 the whole time. 

By the time we reached the first landing, my legs were Jell-O. My loyal henchman tried to steady me for a few moments, and then he huffed impatiently.

"Aw, to hell with this," he muttered, "Can you hold on to me?"

In my brain-fuzz, I grabbed a handful of the front of his T-shirt, earning a short chuff of laughter.

"No, around my neck," he clarified.

Oh, right, right.... I moved my hand to his throat.

"Oh for...! PUT YOUR ARMS AROUND MY NECK!"

Ahhhh. Duh.

I looped my arms around 21's neck. He slid his left arm around my waist, bent down, hooked his other arm behind my knees and picked me up. 

I had a feeling of Deja Vu, and realized it was the second time tonight he'd had to carry me.

"Thanks," I said sheepishly as 21 started up the stairs with me, "Sorry about all this." 

He just chuckled again.

"Pretty sure this is in my job description, somewhere," he said, kindly, "Just don't puke on me."

"Can't make any promises," I said.

He reached the next landing, and paused to heft me a little higher against his chest, and then took a deep breath as he started up the last flight.

"You know," 21 huffed, slowing as he reached the top, "For a skinny guy... you weigh... a friggin' TON." 

He reached the top and carefully set me on my feet, keeping one steadying hand on the small of my back.

"Yeah, well," I replied, holding up my arms and flexing my biceps, "What there is of me is pure, lean, ass-kicking MUSCLE." I grinned as he busted out laughing at me.

"Sure, sure," 21 teased, "That's why you used Puffy Paint to draw abs on your bodysuit, right?" 

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, amused by his good-natured ribbing as he took my arm and led me down the hall toward the bedrooms. 

"Hey, don't take my word for it," I continued, "Just ask my w... OH, HOLY FUCK!" 

My eyes went wide and I clapped both hands to my face like the Home Alone kid as I remembered the circumstances under which I had left my Pookums. 

"Oh shit!" 21 added, as if reading my mind.

I lurched unevenly down the hall to the master bedroom with 21 hot on my heels, and held my breath as I stepped through the doorway. But instead of coming face-to-face with an enraged woman dressed like a farm tart, I was greeted by snoring.

"She's still out?" 21 asked, moving carefully past me and going to the bedside. He leaned over and stared at my wife's magnificent ass, bedecked in her Daisy Duke jean shorts.

"Umm," I began, uncertainly, putting my hands on my hips. But then I realized he was just looking at the Morpho dart still sticking in her buttock. 

"It's empty," he whispered, pointing at the dart, "She's just asleep, now, not unconscious." He came back to my side, and pointed out the door.

"You should probably shower in my bathroom," he continued, guiding me out the door and down the hall, "So you don't wake her."

21 was a better henchman than I deserved, sometimes.

*****************************


	5. Post Happening Part 5

**HENCHMAN 21**

I leaned against the bathroom wall, as Monarch scrubbed himself in my shower. I didn't want to be too far away from him, in case he got dizzy again. A fall in the shower was the last thing we needed after tonight.

"Here," he said suddenly, handing my soap mitt to me around the edge of the curtain, "You should probably burn this. I'll buy you a new one."

I chuckled and took it from him, and dropped it into the small wastebasket beside the toilet.

He shut off the water and reached out for a towel, and I handed him one from the rack. He wrapped it around his waist and pulled the curtain back. 

The edge of the old, claw-foot tub came up to his mid-thigh, and he teetered on wobbly knees, trying to get his leg high enough to clear it.

His unsteadiness started fraying my nerves, so I finally leaned in, wrapped my arms around his waist, lifted him out of the tub.

"Feel better?" I asked as I set him down on the mat.

"I'm OK," he replied, rubbing his eyes.

I took a second towel off the rack and started to dry his body. He still seemed loopy and unsteady, and reached out to hold my shoulder with one hand.

"Sooo glad to get that crud off me," he mumbled, "That canal seriously puts the 'anus' in Gowanus."

"Yeah, no kidding," I replied, "Health concerns aside, your wife would have had some questions about your aroma."

"Definitely," he chuckled a little, running a hand over his wet hair, "She can be quite the little spitfire, can't she?"

I nodded, grinning. 

"Hey remember that time you and Mrs. got into it at the beach over her bathing suit?" I asked, as I toweled off his back. 

"I had every RIGHT to disapprove of that so-called bathing suit," Monarch replied, taking the towel from me and rubbing his hair with it, his voice muffled from under the terrycloth, "She was indecent."

I shrugged. "It was just a bikini, dude."

"Bikini? She could have worn three Doritos and some dental floss and be less exposed...." 

He handed me the towel, his reddish hair now comically puffed out in all directions. I laughed, taking my comb from the edge of the sink and handing it to him.

"Do I need that?" he asked, taking it and examining it.

"Yeah," I laughed, turning him so he could see himself in the bathroom mirror, "You kinda got this Mad Hatter thing going on."

He chuckled and ran the comb over his head a few times, combing his hair straight back from his brow, as he usually did.

"I have to get used to combing my hair again," he said, "Since I don't wear the cowl all the time, now."

I turned and took his maroon robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and held it up for him. He slipped his arms into it, and then pulled the towel from around his waist and tossed it in the hamper in the corner.

He stepped out of the bathroom and started unsteadily down the hall toward his bedroom. I followed on his heels, keeping one hand on his back the whole way.

"You still feel lousy?" I asked, taking hold of his elbow as he teetered a bit.

"Mmm," he replied, rubbing his forehead, "Like a bad hangover."

"You'll be fine in a couple days," I reassured him, "According to Billy."

"Thanks for everything tonight, dude," he said, turning to give me a smile, "I don't know where I would be without you."

"You'd be dead," I said, succinctly. 

He gave a short laugh and a nod.

"Speaking of me being dead," he said, as he came to stand in the doorway of the master bedroom, "What am I going to do about this?"

He gestured at Dr. Mrs. The Monarch, asleep on the bed.

"How am I going to explain this? I darted my own wife in the ass. She's going to kill me!"

"Not necessarily," I said, holding up a finger, "I have an idea about that."

 

A few minutes later, I was easing him down onto the floor of the master bedroom. I put his slippers on his feet, and held up an empty Blue Morpho dart.

"Ready?" I asked, "It won't hurt much."

He held out his arm to me, and I stuck the empty dart into his shoulder. He bit his lip and inhaled sharply through his nose, then relaxed.

"OK, now lie down," I directed. 

He did as he was told. I adjusted his position slightly, to make it look more like he had fallen to the floor. Lastly, I gave one final look around the room to make sure we hadn't missed anything that would raise suspicion in the mind of his wife. 

"All right," I said, dusting off my hands and backing towards the door, "You've both spent the night unconscious after being attacked by The Blue Morpho. Sell it!"

Monarch gave me a thumbs up, and closed his eyes. I stepped out the room and started down the hall. I wasn't even to the stairs yet when I heard the Mrs. shout.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

**THE END**


End file.
